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C.N.P Poetry 

  • Writer's pictureCathexis Northwest Press


By: Peter Sagnella

In spring the promise

was first fissures:

light that splintered chinks

in warping boards,

dirt floor thawing like a pond,

stabs of gasoline, manure.

In a rifting, acrid blackness,

I waited the shaping.

Outside the shed, sharp

under dawn’s nimbus,

fumes spiraled like nebulae,

harrows wheeled like galaxies.

He stood ready, set by the machine,

to gash. Together

they clawed rime-splotched earth

while I followed

with windfall stick

poking into clods, feeling surfaces

break, the dark clots of matter

that would one day

burst into loam.


Peter Sagnella lives in North Haven, Connecticut, where he has taught Composition, Poetry, and Environmental Literature for eighteen years. His work has appeared in many journals, most recently Borderlands, New Haven Review, Kestrel, SLANT, and The Comstock Review, and is forthcoming in Cold Mountain Review. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2015, and was Edwin Way Teale Writer-in-Residence at Trail Wood in 2017.

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